


Sparky

by Niler



Category: ond
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niler/pseuds/Niler





	Sparky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [larrythalegend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrythalegend/gifts).



Sparky

 

 

Harry’s broken every rule, ticked every box. Not like he even knew he had these boxes he wanted someone to tick. You don’t, do you? You only vaguely think about ‘being happy and settled’ like it’s just something you automatically come to when you’re 30 - in a relationship, settled, happy.

How you got there, the process, the nitty gritty isn’t something you spend time thinking about.

Harry’s thought about it, but then Harry’s thought about a lot of things.

Harry wants to be married, not just the commitment, not just the piece of paper; he wants the sense of accomplishment, of being ‘normal’ whilst still being wholly Harry, utterly unique and unboxable.

He likes fucking up people’s sense of expectation – delights in it – to see them confounded by him, by the reality of him, by the knowledge that he isn’t anything they’ve ever before encountered.

If he could live on the fumes of their confused admiration he likely would.

But marriage is a long way off – they’ve both accepted that – and anyway, Harry will never do the thing he’s expected to do, when he’s expected to do it. So they’ll either get married next year on December 25th or when they’re in their dotage (after Harry’s spent 5 decades keeping people guessing - and talking).

Well, if he didn’t like being kept on his toes he wouldn’t be with him, would he?

Did he know it could be this way when he met him those few short months ago? He doesn’t tell Harry that he remembers to the month how long it’s been since they first met; that he doesn’t _count_ it in years, but months.

He knew of him, of course – that’s why he was there, after all, _because_ he was Harry Styles – and though he’d admired him from a far, liked his quirkiness, the reality of him was the equivalent of a punch in the gut.

It happened the moment their eyes met – not love, but attraction and connection for certain – something you know only happens for most people once in a lifetime.

Not like he looked in his eyes and knew they’d be together – he definitely hadn’t been looking for that at the time. But it’s hard when you make that type of connection with someone not to willingly open yourself up to maybe more.

And it _had_ just been friendship at first, or at least what they’d both told themselves. Neither of them had been open to a relationship, not then, but the friendship, the connection had taken them both over, the intimacy coming quicker and with more intensity than either of them had been prepared for.

But yeah, resisting Harry is like trying to shout down a tidal wave; push back a lava flow.

If he wants you, well, you may as well just sit still and get got.

 

**

 

He’s jealous, not by nature, not really; so far his relationships have not evoked that jealous spark in him, haven’t given him reason for insecurity or made him ...irrational...in that way.

But he will admit to something that sometimes _feels_ like jealousy when it comes to Harry.

Harry isn’t particularly shy about bodily contact or people he knows being pretty familiar, and at times that bothers him probably more than it should – _definitely_ more than it should. He won’t come right out and say anything to Harry, but he thinks he’s acted out just enough, on just enough occasions for Harry to get the message.

And while, on one hand, he hates himself for it, he can’t deny that it makes him feel good to know that Harry understands why he feels the way he does, namely that it’s just that sense of _possession_ , not a case of not trusting him or thinking to tell him what to do or not do with his own body.

Harry knows this, knows him well enough to know it would never be  that, so he does try, especially when Harry’s around, to cool it somewhat. But the plain fact of the matter is that he can’t stop Jeff from seeing _pictures_ , can’t stop him putting himself in the picture, viscerally imagining the zing of jealous possessiveness he’d experience on seeing just how low on Harry’s ‘waist’ the hand had crept, observing the way greedy eyes lingered at his mouth.

All of that has a very different smell and taste when you’re there in person.

When you’re at the mercy of your imagination you find out quick enough that it is not your friend, is indeed a tyrant, gleefully painting the absolutely worst case scenario possible – stuff that isn’t even _credible_ – to a rational mind at least. And it isn’t about not trusting Harry – that isn’t’ even an issue. It’s about not trusting Harry with other people because they will, for sure, try to take advantage. He knows that his presence acts as a deterrent. Men _know_ when they’re stepping on toes – even when no-one’s coming out and actually saying that territory is being poached – they know; something to do with the production of testosterone and how in such scenarios there might be an extra  ‘keep your fucking hands off my property’ hormonal component in the mix.

Whatever; he just has to stand there, sometimes, even with his back turned to send those signals.

When he _isn’t_ there, well...

And it’s really not the same with the girls. They are more irritating than aggravating, the entire thing more _duty_ than anything else.

Harry, at times, with men... well he doesn’t even know he’s giving those signals, and Jeff isn’t telling him any time soon. Not sure what that conversation would even _look_ like.

Harry does know he’s a little ...well jealous isn’t really the word he feels comfortable using – and does his best not to give him reason to think it’s justified, certainly never pulls him up on it.

Well, no, because Harry’s many things but a hypocrite isn’t one of them...

 

**

 

Glenne is someone he loves, someone he hopes will be in his life for years to come. Hell he’d marry her if it came to it. He isn’t in love with her, never will be in love with her. The thought is actually pretty ludicrous. Glenne’s special to him because she does what he knows he could never do, and all without even saying a _word_.

He doubts he could do that, really doubts it.

He knows Harry couldn’t do it – Harry can barely hold to the lie for the few minutes it takes to take a snap - and before he’d even agree to it had had to make the friendship between the three of them real, which is why he set out to really like Glenne. Thankfully it wasn’t any kind of task for either of them, and he has reason, once again, to thank his lucky stars for the gifts – of Harry, of Glenne.

But Glenne is one thing, Caleb is another.

Caleb’s an ex and Jeff knows the lore – don’t keep exes around, it’s bad karma. Well, maybe that’s so for some people – it isn’t so for him or Caleb.

Caleb was his friend long before he became his lover and he’s still his friend. He tells Caleb everything - everything except Harry things. Not because he feels awkward or because he fears _Caleb_ might, but because he doesn’t tell Harry about Caleb and therefore cannot tell Caleb about Harry.

Is it instinct that lets you know that certain people simply won’t get on?

Oh he sure as hell intended for them to be bffs; couldn’t, at first, wait to introduce them, but there was just no way to misread the lukewarm greeting, no way of missing the subtle (yet pretty hostile) once over from each of them - rival cats measuring each other up.

Not good.

Didn’t need to be told to put those plans for them to all go hiking together in a pink haze of bliss and fraternal love way on the back burner.

There aren’t _many_ jagged edges in his relationship with Harry, but this, this is definitely one of them.

He doesn’t really know if it’s that Harry doesn’t completely trust him or what; he does know that he’s been forced to sneak around a little and that doesn’t sit well with him.

Harry can be impossible at times, sulky and unreasonable and when he gets like that you might as well not bother trying to reach him.

Well he’s having one of those days, stuck in a black mood that has nothing to do with Jeff, to which Jeff refuses to subject himself.

So he’s taken himself off – anywhere where Harry isn’t – and because it’s the first thing he’d do in the circumstances (in any circumstance) has called Caleb to keep him company.

He isn’t thinking of Harry; he’s made it a rule that he put all thought of Harry out of his mind when he’s with Caleb.

And having don that his mood immediately brightens. He’s actually feeling pretty light, pretty reckless.

Since Harry’s been in his life he’s had to deal with a whole other side of the entertainment business.

Second rule he’s broken – don’t get involved with celebrities. Fuck them, get out, stay out, keep them at arm’s length.

Well he’s done the first bit...

Caleb isn’t involved in the industry, is truth be told fairly anti celeb culture – part of the reasons they couldn’t sustain a romantic relationship. It’s no problem fighting with him as friends, fundamentally disagreeing on some major issues. The stakes tend to get pretty high, however – too high – when you’re sharing a bed with him, too. When they’re just friends they can argue, call each other every foul name ever concocted and still love each other the same way, with the entire thing forgotten and forgiven the morning after.

It didn’t work that way when they were lovers, though, and he’s so glad they were both able to see that before it was too late, too late to salvage the friendship.

He secretly prides himself on this, on their maturity, on the _love_ , because it’s the love that holds it all together; underneath everything the love quietly humming away in the background.

Possible, of course, that Harry, as acutely sensitive as he is, could hear that hum, too, and is still hearing it whenever he and Caleb are together.

And he doesn’t want anything to get to Harry, but Caleb’s Caleb – his best friend – and Harry doesn’t need his protection, not like that.

There are many aspects of Harry’s life that are difficult for Jeff and he accepts that, accepts that this is what it means to be in his life.

Well, then he too has to accept that Caleb is part of _Jeff’s_ life, and it’s clear that he hasn’t quite done that.

They often kiss on greeting, but there’s no charge these days – all that sexual attraction stuff has dissipated like mist in the morning sun. It’s like kissing his auntie.

Caleb’s hair is his best feature – the true blond of a Nordic god. Well he is very easy on the eye, can’t deny that – and has that tall and lanky thing going on, which Jeff will be the first to admit has always been a weakness.

“Looking good.” Caleb claps him vigorously on the back. It’s a joke, dating bck to high school and he knows harry would love to hear the backstory, but of course, he won’t tell him.

“Looking sharp,” he says in response.

They quickly, effortlessly fall into old patterns of speech, of mindset, of behaviour and all Jeff knows is that he just fucking _loves_ it, just fucking loves being around him.

 

**

 

Harry’s mostly still staying at his apartment. They decided it was best that way because they’ve got close and intimate so quick it sometimes feels like they’re going too deep, too fast and someone has to put the brakes on – in whatever practical way they can.

The practical way is physical proximity – or the lack thereof.

And he supposes it must work – they’d definitely be in each other’s pockets all day otherwise – but he can’t help feeling that sooner rather than later Harry will simply be there, in his house, living wih him and that will be that.

It’s like a foregone conclusion, and in many ways it seems crazy to wait, like deliberately delaying the inevitable, but that’s what you do – you delay the inevitable.

Harry’s an entertaining roommate – very tidy, very thoughtful – but fun to be around. It’s like he’s got it all, really.

And oh listen: what’s that sound?

Yeah, him, falling like a ton of bricks.

Again.

 

**

 

When he returns it’s to the sound of music and the smell of baking.

Great – Harry’s contrite; this will be fun.

He’s in the kitchen cleaning up, but beams a smile his way.

“You look sun burned.”

“I do? I don’t _feel_ sun burned.” Jeff sidles over, grabbing him round the waist, kissing him. “But _you_ look oven toasted.”

“The fuck does that look like?”

“Like fucking you all night long in a cool bed.” He starts nibbling at Harry’s neck, frowning a little when he distinctly feels him tense.

He’s pulled back, waiting for Jeff to meet his eyes. “Where have you been?”

The tone is a little...unusual... but Jeff doesn’t react. “Out driving for a little while.” The rest of the time spent in my best buddy’s house, my best buddy who you can’t stand.

“Where to?”

“Nowhere much – downtown.” Clearly Harry suspects he’s been with Caleb, and because he didn’t _tell_ him he was seeing him before he saw him and isn’t telling him now he’s suspicious and from the look of it ready to pop someone.

“Where, though? Specifically.” He says it with a forced smile, that, well, is _forced_ and ...does he really not know Jeff can tell when he’s forcing a smile?

“I told you, nowhere special – specifically.” He moves from his embrace because he’s a little annoyed with the tone and anyway this Caleb thing is getting old.  “Have you cooked?” Well he won’t deny he knows which buttons to press but is pretty ashamed that he didn’t hesitate to do so, that he’s let his annoyance get the better of him.

He hates them being at odds but Harry’s tone was really fucking aggravating.

“Yeah, I’ve cooked.” He opens the oven door with such force Jeff can hear the hinges wailing in shocked protest.

“Help your fucking self!”

Jeff leans on the counter, breathing through his nose, glaring at Harry but struggling with himself to get it back under control, cut it off right here.

He shouldn’t have to be the one being conciliatory, but maybe he should at least start by trying to find out what’s eating him. “You’re being a dick – what have I done?” What he really means is ‘what do you _think_ I’ve done?’ but that’s not going to pour oil on troubled waters, is it?

Harry stares – glares – at him for the longest time, and Jeff can’t tell what’s going through his mind at all. Well, he knows he’s mad and it’s directed at him so he supposes he can take a _guess_ at some of the thoughts. What he can’t do is guess at what gave rise to them. And what the fuck’s he supposed to do with nothing to go on? How to explain or apologise for something you don’t even know you’ve done?

“You smell like someone else.”

For a moment Jeff’s puzzled, the words failing to line up in a coherent way for him, until he gets it.

Oh.

Well he did spend all that time with Caleb, more or less in Caleb’s personal space and, yeah, they did hug a couple of times.

But Caleb’s cologne is really subtle...

Memo to self: if you’re ever going to cheat make sure that you never think that even subtle cologne will pass the sniffer dog test aka jealous and suspicious lover.

“I don’t. I smell like me. Don’t you _remember_ what I smell like?” His instinct is to deflect, to derail, to forestall the conversation he so doesn’t want to have and he knows full well just how to do that, knows precisely which side of Harry to target.

But of course the problem is that the animal side of Harry is not only the most receptive to his sexual come ons, it’s also the one with the reptilian brain that aggressively signals its resentment of people who encroach on its territory.

“I do, that’s the trouble.” He leans against the countertop, arms crossed, as tense as Jeff’s ever seen him, though he sees a moment late that the tension stems from tightly coiled anger.

But wait, what the fuck does _he_ have to be angry about?

If anyone should be angry it’s him. Harry’s as goods as accusing him of sleeping with another guy – and for what, the whiff of a new cologne?

“What do you want me to say? Tell you what, how about you just fucking _ask_ me. Come on, ask me what you wanna ask.” Did he say oil on troubled water? Well how about taking that oil and adding a bit of flame to it instead? His anger, Harry’s uncalled for suspicious fucking mind – total conflagration.

Maybe if they burned it all up that would put an end – finally - to this fucking Caleb thing.

Jeff doesn’t even know why he’s got this in his head at all. Harry’s never been jealous of any of the guys he deals with on a daily basis; big stars, lots of gay guys on the prowl – nothing.

So why Caleb for fuck’s sake?

And the ironic thing, of course, is that he and Caleb are more chaste and platonic than brothers these days.

“Well come on then, say what you want to say.” His tone makes it into a challenge and Jeff knows damn well how that, all by itself, can lead to all kinds of really _stupid_ things.

Harry’s not that guy, though – competitive to a fault he may be, but he’s not easily baited.

And, no, he’s not rising to it at all, just standing there, staring him down, no longer glaring, though, just looking hurt and... disappointed?

What the hell?

Where’s _that_ coming from? _He’s_ disappointed? He’s not the one who was in such a sulk his lover had no choice but to go seek more amenable company. What the fuck!

“Say what, Jeff? Thought I already asked you where you’d been.”

“And I already told you.” Did he want to battle with words, go to the canvass over semantics, because Jeff is more than ready for that.

Harry’s mind’s working behind the cool green of his gaze and Jeff can tell he’s _considering_ going to the canvass, probably already counting the cuts and bruises he’ll likely leave once they get to it.

And he wants to end it here, say out loud that he is definitely not fucking anyone else, most definitely not fucking _Caleb_.

But why the fuck should he? Why should he do the work _for_ him? He’s the one who won’t even say what’s on his mind. If he can get mad about it he can surely fucking _talk_ about it, can’t he?

And niggling at him is the realisation that he seriously fucking resents that Harry believes Caleb’s that kinda guy.

What the fuck?

Harry’s still staring him down, but it must be clear that Jeff’s giving him nothing, no free passes this time.

They need to get this shit out there, get it sorted – and it’s up to Harry since he’s the one with the damn problem.

Amazing, just really fucking amazing.

Had he ever, ever said a darn thing about Nick, about Louis, about Jonathan? Okay, Jonathan was the only one after they met, but no, he hadn’t said a fucking word.

And he could have – if he’d wanted to be a dick – but he’d understood what it was, accepted that Harry was testing the boundaries and did the right thing, played it the way he was meant to. And he’d got his reward – Harry, all his, Harry trusting him, Harry knowing that he could be whomever he needed to be and Jeff would still be there for all of it.

That was how it was between them – or so he’d assumed – but Harry had come unstuck with Caleb, just could not get past it and just stewed in it, never bothering to open up to Jeff about any of it.

Well, of course, Jeff can understand that; not easy to talk about an ex, about your jealousy and resentment because of that shared history, the fear of residual feelings – affections.

Yeah, all understandable, but he has to _guess_ at it since Harry’s keeping it all bottled up. Well, except for the obvious resentment – that he’s not keeping to himself at all.

Has to be sorted out today; no-one’s going to bed until it is.

Harry had better get that, or he’ll have no choice but to say it himself and god knows that’s the last thing either of them want.

Seeing Harry visibly deflate, getting ready to let it go, he blurts out. “I was with Caleb. _That’s_ where I’ve been.”

Well, he now knows what to do if he should ever actually have an illicit affair and confess it to Harry – don’t.

Harry turns to his right, searching, rejects the first few object that catch his eye, and finally settling on the fruit bowl, picks a banana which he hurls at Jeff’s head. All of this done in the blink of an eye.

Clearly Harry doesn’t have brothers or hasn’t roughhoused much– everyone knows you don’t throw it at the head – you aim for the torso. Where they gonna duck to to avoid the hit?

He ducks, avoids the hit, hears the crash as it knocks over glasses on the side table (it was a pretty hard throw, quite impressive, really).

“What the fuck?” he demands, feeling the phantom head-ringing pain that would surely have been his if it had connected - or had been an apple rather than a banana. “What the hell was that for? Does the name Caleb just automatically make you lose a screw or something?” Well that wasn’t very nice, definitely uncalled for, but that was a fucking quarterback pass to the end zone with him the chump standing in the way.

What if he hadn’t ducked?

For answer Harry turns to the bowl and gets hold of another banana...

 

**

It wasn’t a very long fight – Harry had already eaten most of the bananas and it didn’t look like even he thought Jeff would be hurt by a bunch of grapes.

Jeff had taken cover all the same – he was in the right, but no need to be right and have bruises. Jsut be in the right.

When Harry had run out of fruit – which yeah hadn’t taken long – he’d begun to talk.

It hadn’t made much sense.

Jeff had listened without interrupting him though it had taken a lot of willpower, and then when he’d dried up had enfolded him in his arms and suggested they take a bath.

 

**

 

“And he’s really only friends with you?”

He’s playing with Harry’s hair, running the wet strands through his fingers. It’s one of their favourite things, and he regards it as a marker of the stability of their relationship: so long as they have this, they’re fine. “We dated for like 5 minutes, Harry. The rest of it is us being really good friends. I love Caleb, I do, but as a friend, a brother. Can’t I do both – love him that way and you this way?” He leans forward to place a dry kiss on the end of his nose.

Harry holds him there, sks for the kiss to migrate to his mouth.

He’s mellow and warm and soft – mostly soft.

Jeff runs a hand across where he isn’t soft, a promise for later. “So are we sure?” he asks into Harry’s warm mouth.

Harry simply nods, but all the tension has gone, the wound lanced, the poison leached.

“Good, cos I sure as hell am. You know that right? Never been so sure.”

 

**

 

They don’t revisit it, and he and Caleb, though not the bffs Jeff would have liked get on well now, even go out together without him.,

To imagine Harry ever being that jealous is pretty hard these days, and he knows it’s because of him, because of the confidence his presence has fostered within Harry.

Back then, as Harry himself explained, he was raw and confused, bruised by the relationship with Louis, by the way it played out; rudderless, hurtling along with no-one to act as his lighthouse.

Well now Harry has him, and were he to ever lose his way again, knows that this time Jeff’s light will always act as a beacon to guide him home.

 


End file.
